


let the body speak

by meliore



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Not Happy, Possible Character Death, Reflection, Self-Reflection, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliore/pseuds/meliore
Summary: James, something who is not Bucky Barnes but who is not The Winter Soldier too, reflects on things and watch as his body turns into the home of a parasite.





	let the body speak

**Author's Note:**

> No idea of what to say here.
> 
> In my other work, Ignorance Is Bliss, i said in the beginning(?) notes that I've been writing darker stuff since it's October. The Halloween month, and everything. This is one of those darker things! Though I've written this earlier today, somewhere between 4am and 6am, I forgot. This thing here is not focused on relationships, not even as in the friendship between Steve and James/Bucky, but on... body horror, in a way? I had never written something like this before, I think, so I choose to not put it on the tags, but the warning is here because. It's not the type of thing everyone can take, right?
> 
> While this is not happy, in my own opinion, it's not... sad, too? But this is just me.
> 
> This is somewhat an interpretation about James Barnes' character (and other things too), based on the movies and on my thoughts alone, but the reflections in there, put in the context of his thoughts, aren't meant as The Only Right Thoughts he could have, and also, not meant to offend any character.
> 
> The rating is a complex thing for me. I don't think this is mature or explicit, but it's not the suitable for everyone type of stuff.
> 
> If this is bad, or out of character, the only thing I got to say is... you only live once.

The image has been sold. Anyone has this opinion that a soldier is a bit above people, and a super-soldier is above everyone -- even if their place in a military rank is near the bottom. _Look at him_ , they say and point to Captain America. _He is the role model I want you to follow._ Their children know Captain America is a hero.

Captain America is invincible. “He will save us from them,” they believe with passion, because they need the hope it gives them. Or even “He is a clear representation that kindness is the best policy,” said with such a faith that one could think they were talking about a god.

Although the man under the suit, the star-spangled man with a plan is, right now, Steve Rogers, there is a difference between Steve and Captain America.

Steve is vulnerable, where Captain America is not. Steve has not impacted the world, where Captain America has. The reason behind the importance Steve has for the public is Captain America; he’s not important because of who he is, but what he, second each one of them, represents.

Captain America is not the only man -- the only thing -- who ever got labeled as a super-soldier, but he is the one who, understandably, the public likes to talk about. He is the one they want to look at. He is the one who makes them think that America is not so bad. He is the one who had noble experiences in his life.

He is the one with no blood tainting his hands.

And Steve is different from Captain America. Not a nice thought for the public, not a nice thought for Steve. Steve, who likes this shield made of steel that protects him from the outside world, who likes this shield made of steel that makes him, even if only for a moment, calm, because look at him, he’s perfect, he’s Captain America!

But Steve is different from Captain America nonetheless. He is the man with anger issues who would stand up against anything he thought unacceptable. He is the man who would make mistakes, because not even him could avoid it, and have to find the courage to ask for someone’s forgiveness. He is the one who is more than an idea; a human.

Bucky was his sidekick.

A nice thought, better left alone, better left in comic books’ pages, better left in the past, better left outside the modern world. Bucky was still here, in Steve’s memories, but his memories were partial, his memories were biased.

Steve saw the child who decided to protect the sick boy everyone knew and no one liked, and not the child who enjoyed fighting with anyone who was willing to fight him. He saw the teen who came back home in the middle of the night, from a date that was turned into a fight, and not the teen who was in a speakeasy with a very sweet dame who happened to be the wife of a politician. The young adult who wouldn’t run from a fight unless it was necessary, and not the young adult who wanted to _destroy_ a human being, who couldn’t keep his anger inside once he let it out.

Bucky was what people like Steve thought he was. Bucky was his own Captain America.

He was the idea James used to look up to. Perfection. An athlete, a charming man, a good friend.

But he was different from Bucky. He wanted to find _the one_ as much as he genuinely enjoyed flirting and watching the gestures women would do, because they were shy.

Shy women were so cool.

He misses it. Dating every girl he could. It’s silly, but he misses it.

He tried to be a good man, to protect whoever he could, but it was never enough. He was never enough. He never talked about it with his parents, because who did that type of thing those days? But he felt it.

Steve had molded himself -- though he was also molded by people -- into Captain America. He saw the war, he saw his best friend falling, he went into the ice and then he came back almost seventy years later.

James made himself fit in Bucky Barnes’ shoes, but then he was molded, again and again, into something else. _You don’t want it? Too bad_ and he was tired, tired after minutes, tired after years.

Because it never left him. The blood -- not everyone he killed was innocent. And it seemed to be such an alien concept to people who liked him, to the people surrounding him, but James' issue was not with killing innocent people, it was with _killing_ people as a whole. “It’s not your fault,” each one of them said. It were his hands. He had the right to blame himself. He was not a fucking child, a dumbass, he knew it was not his fault, but even the people who feel like they understood him, Black Widow aside, never killed someone like he did -- and the headaches and the pain that never left him.

Torture was such an alien concept for them.

It’s too painful to acknowledge. And when it happens, it’s always in other places, and people just happen to be enough of a threat that their bodies could be tortured, violated, enough of a threat that they could die, because they were a threat and they needed to be stopped.

And if their bodies disappear, if they sleep down there in the sea, well, it’s not something anyone needs to know about.

“Bucky?”

Too far, he wandered too far in his own mind.

His hair clung to his forehead because of the sweat.

“The soup is almost ready. You just gotta wait some minutes, okay?” Steve tells him. His voice is far away. His tone is sweet. Sweet, like James is a weird mixture between a wild animal and a scared child.

A scared and dumb child.

It was the sickness. He knew it was the sickness. Steve thought he had a flu. He _knew_ it was the sickness.

His right arm -- the flesh one -- has been itching for hours. It was not any sickness. It was a parasite who brought the worst parts of him to the surface. He needed to hide and to find a convincing way to lie about it before _it_ got loose.

He looked to Steve. He was focused on the soup. Hiding his actions with the wool blanket, he looked to his arm to see what it looked like.

James was right. Unfortunately, he was right.

He could see his arm, looking like it had been scratched for too long, not only red but _bleeding_. The thing was scratching him, fighting for its freedom.

It begins moving under his skin. James bites his lip. He can see it. He had seen worse, but if he hadn’t, he’d be in deep agony.

He liked his thoughts better. He wrapped the blanket around him.

Steve looked to him, and he watched as he stood up.

“Bathroom,” he said.

_That_ was the convincing lie.

It worked. Steve smiled and nodded, focusing on the soup again. James walked, fast as he could, to the bathroom.

His stomach was turning upside down. He entered the bathroom and locked the door, letting the blanket fall.

He could see it. A bigger number. They were getting to his elbow.

With his left hand, he held his pocket knife, and stabbed himself with it. Right above his elbow.

He didn’t bled.

They kept coming, and he felt a sting in his neck. His balance got even worse than it already was and he fell.

He couldn’t let it out. Couldn’t--

James sat, as much as he could, and held the toilet seat.

He vomited everything he could. Some food, but mainly water. There were drops of blood.

“Bucky?” Steve called him. “Are you okay?”

James opened his mouth to answer, but only blood came out.

Soon enough, he was the thing inside of his own body, and the parasite was nothing more than himself.

His blood was burning hot.

* * *

 

The thing about The Soldier was that he was not a monster HYDRA had created, but a parasite James himself had fought for almost a century.

Steve’s fate would be in Captain America’s hands.

His own had always been to let the parasite win.

**Author's Note:**

> A speakeasy, in the context of 1920s and such, was, to put it simply, an illegal bar.
> 
> If you want to interpret this as an hallucination, a nightmare, something real but nothing serious happened and James came back to his body, something real and someone died, anything, feel free. You can interpret this any way you do.
> 
> Talking about Steve there: I have no issues with his reasons to fight anyone being Honor or things like that, but for me... It's more interesting to write him as someone who has anger issues. I think I have, or had, anger issues of my own, and anger is so many times described as something that can only be evil and if you're angry you're not a good person and anything like that. When in reality, even if unpleasant, it's... Just like anxiety. Unpleasant, you might need to search for help, but it's just as "valid", whatever valid means. Anyway.
> 
> I guess this is all for today.
> 
> I was insecure to post this, but my friend Math convinced me that it was not so bad. If you feel like it, check out his art! https://www.instagram.com/akatsuho/


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